The Best-laid Plans
by Halcris
Summary: An unexplained attack on Bodie, eventually leads to the uncovering of a clever scheme, but not before the pair get landed in a bit of bother.


**The Best-laid Plans** ….

Doyle smothered a yawn as he gazed wearily out of his big kitchen window, un-curtained, as he was three floors up, into the dark night beyond.

He had just rinsed out the mug after enjoying a bedtime hot chocolate. He would be glad to get to bed. He was really tired, mainly due to three rather tiring unproductive days. He and Bodie had gone from one venue to another, talking to a wide assortment of people, trying hard to get the lead they needed. It hadn't been found yet.

C.I.5 had been handed a problem by the Home Office, and so far they were making little progress.

He switched off the kitchen light, and moved towards the bedroom, only to be startled by the sound of the door-bell. Who on earth could it be at this time of night ? Re-tying the belt of his dressing-gown he moved along the hall to the door. He peered through the safety spy-hole. All he could see was the back of a dark head, but it was one he recognised. Bodie, of course.

He unlocked the door and opened it, ready to berate his friend for the lateness of his visit. Only to stop short, as Bodie turned to face him, and he took in the blood-stained handkerchief he was clutching to his forehead !

"Bodie ! What the…?," he exclaimed, reaching out a swift hand to pull his partner in.

"What happened, Bodie ?," he demanded, as he shut and re-locked the door.

"Find me a seat and a drink, and I'll tell you," replied Bodie moving along the hall.

Doyle ushered his mate into the lounge, and into the big arm-chair. Then he hurried back to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard, he reached to the back for the small bottle of Scotch he kept there, in case their boss, Cowley, ever dropped in. He quickly poured some into a glass, and took it back to Bodie. Then he returned to the kitchen, and collected a towel, a bowl of warm water and his first-aid kit. Returning to the lounge, he pulled an occasional table nearer and deposited his load. In an attempt to lighten the tension of the moment, he ventured a facetious remark.

"What happened, Bodie ?," he asked. "Did an irate husband come home earlier than expected ?"

Bodie threw him a withering glance, as he let him remove the blood-soaked handkerchief.

But, as Doyle gently bathed away the blood on his mate's face, his mood changed abruptly. The injury being revealed by his ministrations was not the result of a blow from a fist. To him, it looked much more like a crease from a very nearly fatal bullet !

He carefully used a strip of sticking plaster to hold a small dressing in place. That would do for now. Bodie was looking better than when he'd first seen him. He cleared away the stuff he'd been using, and put the kettle on for coffee. Then he went back to draw another chair up close to his friend.

"Now, Bodie," he demanded. "Tell me what's going on."

"I wish I could," replied Bodie. "I'd spent the evening with Gina. She lives just a few streets away from here. As you know, she's an air-hostess, and she's on a very early shift, so I had to come away."

Doyle nodded. He'd met Gina a couple of times. She was a sensible girl and good for Bodie.

"I was just going back to my car," went on Bodie, "And that shot came without any warning. I'd got the car door open and almost fell into it. I was going to drive off if there were any more shots but it didn't happen. I started the car, but I felt so dizzy, I decided to come to you, as you were so near."

"I'm glad you did," said Doyle, "You weren't fit to drive."

"But I'm alright now, thanks to your first-aid," said his mate. "So I'd better be off."

"No way," said Doyle firmly. "You're staying here tonight. And going to bed."

He helped his partner to his feet, and propelled him towards the bedroom, easing off his jacket as they went. He pulled back the covers and pushed him to lie down. Bodie submitted to his care, as he'd found when he stood up, that he wasn't as steady as he'd thought.

Doyle divested his friend of his shoes and most of his clothes, and pulled the covers neatly over him. His mate looked as if he were almost asleep already. Doyle was a bit concerned, as he knew that head injuries could often have delayed re-actions. Still, he thought, I've got him where I can keep an eye on him.

He tidied up the kitchen, switched off the lights and crept back into the bedroom. Bodie was peacefully asleep, and had re-gained most of his lost colour. Doyle slipped off his dressing-gown, and slid very carefully in beside him. I probably won't be able to stay awake, he thought, but at least I'll be near enough to be roused if he shows any sign of distress.

But his worries were groundless. Both men slept quietly all night, restoring their energy.

Doyle woke slowly, and took a moment to remember last night's events. Then he sat up quickly and switched on the bedside lamp. He was alone, though the other side of the bed was rumpled, as if someone had slept there.

Then he smelled the coffee ! He jumped up quickly, grabbed his discarded dressing-gown, donning it as he hurried through to the kitchen.

Bodie was there, fully dressed, and looking quite his usual self, apart from the dressing still decorating his forehead.

"Morning, mate," he greeted cheerfully. "Breakfast's nearly ready."

He has been busy, Doyle noted, for the table was neatly set, with plates and mugs and cereal bowls.

There was a 'ping' from the toaster. Two slices popped up. Bodie caught them neatly and brought them to the table.

"You must be feeling better," said Doyle, as he seated himself at the table, and made the most of being waited on.

"I'm fine," declared Bodie, "and grateful for your help."

Doyle reserved judgement. His mate seemed recovered, but he was still going to insist that he was checked by their own medical man.

It wasn't long before he too was dressed and ready to go. As they moved together towards the door, Bodie was feeling in his jacket pocket, and looking puzzled.

"My car keys," he said, "I seem to have lost them."

"No, you haven't ," said Doyle, "I've got them."

Bodie held out his hand for them, but Doyle shook his head. "You're not driving till Dr. Thornton gives you the O.K.," he declared firmly. "We can get your car picked up later."

Bodie looked ready to protest, but his mate went on quickly. "Look, I'll take us in. It'll give you a chance to work out what we're going to say to the boss."

That gave Bodie something to think about, and he made no further objections. Cowley was going to have a lot of questions, and, at the moment, he didn't have any answers. When their boss was in demanding mode, he was quite a force to be reckoned with.

Arriving at Headquarters, Doyle left Bodie at the doctor's room, and went on up to report to Cowley. He quickly explained his side of what had happened, and their boss listened intently.

"Hm," Cowley said at last, "It's puzzling. If it had been you, we would have been looking for something in your police past, but that doesn't apply to Bodie.

At that moment there was a tap at the door, and Bodie entered, looking cheerful. "Dr. Thornton's given me the 'all clear'", he announced brightly.

Doyle was relieved. You couldn't pull anything over Dr. Thornton, although Bodie had tried a couple of times, and his reports came direct to Cowley, so it was no use lying about what he'd said.

Cowley waved Bodie to a seat. "Now," he said briskly, "Have you any ideas about this ? Can you think of anyone who might have had it in for you ?"

Bodie had to admit that he had nothing to suggest that might supply a reason for the assault.

Doyle had been looking thoughtful.

"Do you suppose it had anything to do with the enquiries we've been making recently ?," he suggested.

_C.I.5 had been approached by the Home Office to see if they could throw any light on an on-going mystery concerning prison escapes. __Prison escapes, though rare, do happen from time to time, usually involving __hardened criminals unwilling to serve out their long sentences, or more often, remand prisoners before they got to trial, sprung by those who feared what would be revealed if a case came to court. Indeed, C.I.5 had staged one such effort themselves, a plan devised by Cowley to catch a traitor. __But usually such escapees were re-captured as they attempted to get out of the country, due to the immediate checks on all types of exits quickly rushed into place._

_But recently, the Home Office had advised, there had been a subtle change. In spite of close controls on ports, airports, and all other means of egress, many escaped villains had simply disappeared, to surface, months later, in Europe or even in America. __A pattern had begun to emerge, suggesting that there was an organisation in being, that was getting these people away and out of the country, in spite of all the tight controls._

_How was it being done ? Who was behind it ? It was hoped that C.I.5 might find some answers._

Cowley took Doyle's thought on board. "Think about who you spoke to in the last few days," he ordered the pair before him. "Maybe you touched on something without realising it. Were you suspicious of anyone ? It's not in your report."

Bodie and Doyle thought again of all the people they had spoken to recently. Were any of them nervous or edgy ?

At last Doyle came up with a name. "Sam Ellis," he said thoughtfully. "He wasn't quite his usual chatty self."

"What do you know about him ?." demanded Cowley.

"Very little," said Doyle. "He's a lorry-driver. No record that I know of. We didn't actually talk to him. There was no reason to, but he was listening while we talked to others." He waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "But he wouldn't have anything to do with taking a shot at Bodie."

"Somebody thought it worth a try," commented Cowley. "So maybe you touched a nerve somewhere"

He picked up the report they had made the day before. "Let's go over again who you talked to, and what responses you got."

They pored over it for a while, but got no satisfaction from the task. At last, they were dismissed with the final admonition to keep thinking about it.

The name Sam Ellis kept niggling in Doyle's mind. He had dismissed him as not being involved in the shot at Bodie, and hadn't considered him as having anything to do with the problem they were trying to solve.

Little did he know that he was wrong on both counts ! True, Ellis had had nothing to do with the attack on Bodie, but, in fact, that had been precipitated after he had told his lorry-driver partner, Angelo, about the questions C.I.5 had been asking. And it was Angelo who had been panicked into the extreme action he had taken.

Sam Ellis was not an intelligent man, but he did have a deal of common sense. He knew he was a skilled lorry-driver, could handle any size of vehicle, and had always competently managed the many relief jobs he had done. But when he was approached by the owner of a firm with a fleet of lorries, and was offered a permanent job with wages far bigger than he could normally command, he was not deceived. He realised that the extra money probably meant that he might be asked to do some jobs that were a little out of the ordinary. He thought it over carefully, and decided that as long as he wasn't asked to do anything that involved violence, he would go along with it. He wanted the money !

And it had proved to be a very good job. He had got on instantly with Angelo, his allotted partner, and the pair of them now did a regular weekly run across the Channel in a medium-sized lorry, carrying a variety of goods, and picking up stuff to bring back. Nothing to cause any alarm. Simple cargoes such as radios, and record-players, or other music-related goods, and bringing back colourful textiles, ceramics, or glassware.

As the weeks passed, he slipped out of Doyle's immediate memory. C.I.5 were not getting very far with their enquiries. The problem had now become an on-going background issue.

More urgent issues were being dealt with by those on active duty, but all the while checks were still being made by those not involved in these. One by one, all the country's airports, even the smaller ones, had been visited, and their security measures checked. Now the work had moved to ports. As Britain has so many, in all parts of the country, this was a slow and painstaking task, but it was being methodically done.

Bodie and Doyle had not been involved in any of this as yet, as they had been dealing with other things, but one day they were called into Cowley's office. In a few words he brought the problem back to their attention.

"We're still checking ports," he said. "Dover to Calais is the shortest Channel crossing route, isn't it ?. So as there's nothing else urgent on, I want you two to go down and do some checking there. I've already had reports that look as if their security on passports etc. is pretty good, but it may be that something you see might suggest a loop-hole."

So the pair had spent most of the day in Dover, being shown round by various security officers. They had taken careful note of all they had seen, but had not found anything to raise any doubts in their minds.

They had returned to the area where their car was parked, and were having a last few words with the officer there before leaving. They had already seen what happened in this area, where small lorries were passed in and out, the driver's passports and other papers carefully checked each time. They walked together out of the door of the man's office, and watched as a small lorry came through, was checked and moved on.

As it neared where they were, the driver gave a small 'toot' on his horn, and waved in a friendly manner to the officer standing with them, before driving on and disappearing out of the exit, and onto the road back towards London.

Doyle, to his surprise, had recognised the driver. "That was Sam Ellis, wasn't it ?," he asked.

"Yes," answered the officer. "Sam and Angelo. You could set your watch by them. Come through, regular as clockwork, they do. Go out Tuesday evening, and back Friday teatime, every week."

He'd quite taken to his visitors and was disposed to be chatty. "Not usual to see Sam at this time, though," he added. "He usually does the outward run, and Angelo brings it back." He smiled to himself as he recalled something. "But Sam was not himself this Tuesday. I checked the papers personally with Angelo. Sam was tucked up in a sleeping-bag. All I saw of him was that horrible green bobble-hat he always wears. Angelo explained that Sam had been out at a friend's stag night, and was sleeping it off. But he seems to have recovered all right."

They said their goodbyes, thanking the man, and left to pick up their car. Doyle had driven down, so Bodie took the wheel for the trip back. His partner relaxed in the seat beside him, and seemed deep in thought. Bodie noticed how abstracted his friend seemed.

"Something on your mind, mate ?" he queried.

"Yeah," admitted Doyle. "Something's niggling and I can't pin it down."

Bodie thought for a while, going over all they'd seen during the day. He couldn't recall anything unusual, though. Then he had an idea. "Bit of a co-incidence, seeing Sam, wasn't it ? Has it anything to do with that ?," he ventured.

Doyle suddenly sat upright with a start."Yes, it has !," he exclaimed excitedly. "Consider this, Bodie. Sam and Angelo go through regularly, week after week the same. The men check their papers, of course, but they are used to them, and so I don't suppose they are over careful."

"Well," replied Bodie, "so what ?."

"But this week was different, the man said. Angelo was doing the outward journey for a change. Sam wasn't well, apparently. But just think what the officer actually said. He said, 'all he could see was the green bobble hat '. But their papers were in order, so they were passed through."

Bodie looked puzzled. He couldn't see yet what his partner was getting at.

"Don't you see ?," queried Doyle. "The officer accepted it was Sam, as he was so used to their regular trips. But it could have been anybody !."

Bodie let this thought sink in. "I see what you mean," he said at last. "But Sam was there, driving back."

"Yes," agreed Doyle, "But he could well have gone across to Europe by a different way, maybe with a false passport, and met up with Angelo somewhere."

"And given the false passport to the other man," added Bodie, now getting the full idea. "I think we'd better get back and put this scenario to the boss," he said, and put his foot down a bit.

It was the following morning before they got the opportunity to put Doyle's idea to George Cowley. He listened carefully to all that one of his best operatives had to say, and thought for quite a while before he commented. "Yes," he said at last. "It's a very plausible scene, and could very well he possible. But, _ and it's a big but, we haven't a single shred of evidence to substantiate it"

On reflection, both Doyle and Bodie knew this was true, and the knowledge left them a bit subdued.

"However," continued their boss, "I think it is well worth further investigation. So the pair of you can set about finding out all you can about Sam Ellis. Who he works for ? How big an organization ? Oh, you know the kind of thing, so get on it right away."

The pair left quickly to start the task. Doyle was especially pleased with the assignment, as he wanted the chance to prove his idea was feasible. They soon had acquired a great deal of information. Ellis worked for a firm called Boardman & Sons. It had been established decades ago by one James Boardman, a respected businessman. He had retired 5 years ago. His eldest son, tired of waiting to take over, had gone into the Army. He was carving a career there, and was no longer interested in the business, which had therefore been taken over by the younger son, George Boardman. The firm was starting to prosper under his care, having added 1 articulated lorry, and 2 smaller ones to the fleet fairly recently.

The two articulated lorries were on long-term lease to a firm exporting agricultural items, ranging from hand tools to small tractors. The six smaller lorries, including the one driven by Sam and his partner Angelo, all had a similar regular pattern, but on different days, three of them using the Newhaven to Dieppe route.

Bodie and Doyle managed a trip down to Newhaven to check, and saw one of Boardman's lorries come through, the drivers on equally friendly terms with the customs men, due to their steady, regular routine. The pair took their findings back to Cowley, who listened carefully. But his response was disappointing.

"I agree," he said, "that it is the perfect set-up for the kind of deceptive scene you've envisaged, but you still haven't the slightest real proof that it is happening."

"We could pull in some of the drivers, and have a go at them," suggested Bodie.

"Useless," declared Cowley. "If they denied it, you couldn't prove they were lying. And in any case, we don't know whether they are all in it. Some of them may not realise what's happening, or that they are being used. They just follow orders – go where they're told."

He let that thought sink in, as he watched the crest-fallen looks on their faces. "In addition," he said, "If it is happening, there's a clever mind somewhere, organising it all, and you haven't the slightest clue about him, have you ?"

"So what do we do about it ?," asked Bodie gloomily.

"Forget about the drivers for now," ordered Cowley, "and give a bit more thought to who might be giving the orders. I don't think it is Boardman. I've met him, and I don't think he's got the brains or the nerve on his own."

Shrewd as ever, Cowley was right, of course. There was someone behind it, organising it all, and keeping a very low profile. American by birth, his name was Eric Shroeder, though he had used a great many aliases in his time, as his own particular area of expertise was creating false passports. He was well known in the criminal world in many countries, for he had strong Mafia connections, but, so far, had managed to stay clear of the law, mainly by disappearing when things got too hot, and assuming another identity somewhere else.

He had come to Britain looking for special conditions to carry out a scheme he had in mind. He was well in with a group who were skilled at organising clever jail-breaks, for a huge fee, of course. What he needed was a small, respectable, established lorry firm, with an owner or manager who could be manipulated for money. He found what he wanted in George Boardman, a much weaker individual than his father or elder brother. He'd found a firm with a good reputation, and a man in charge, whose eyes lit up at the prospect of making lots of money. It didn't take Shroeder long to get well in with Boardman.

He quickly got his own man Angelo onto one of the lorries, partnering Sam Ellis, whom he thought was a bit slow. Then whenever men had left or been subtly driven away, he'd skilfully got drivers of his own choice in, telling Boardman which ones to hire. Six lorries meant twelve drivers, and already more than half the force were his men. This had been his plan all along.

His partners, who were the experts at getting men out of jail, would advise him of a customer, ready to pay a substantial fee to be got out of the country by some secret way. He would then chose which of his drivers most resembled the fugitive, and employed clever make-up or disguise to get them through, all efforts aided by the fact that exits were always made at night, when the lorry cabs were dark, and often the papers were only checked by the light of the officer's torch.

It had worked very well many times now, and his money, stashed away, was rising nicely.

The last one had been a bit more difficult to organise, for the man in question would have been difficult to disguise, but Angelo and he had devised the plan with the sleeping-bag and the green bobble hat, and it had worked beautifully. Such a trick could well be used again, he thought, on one of the other routes.

Then he received some disconcerting news. The two C.I.5 men, whose questions to lorry-drivers had so panicked Angelo, had started making enquiries about Boardman's !

His man, Angelo, had been a fool. A fiery Italian, used to Mafia ways, he had acted on his own, by following one of the men and taking a shot at him. Shroeder had berated him furiously for it when he found out, because all he had achieved was to draw more attention. But nothing more had come of it for a while, so he'd hoped no harm had been done.

But now it seemed as if trouble were brewing again. The pair were starting to get too close. Something would have to be done ! It would have to be something subtle, for he knew that so far there was only suspicion and not proof.

He would think about it on his trip north, for he was due to meet up with his partners who were planning to get a man out of Durham jail. So he left on his trip with a great deal on his mind, but as yet no definite plan.

But he hadn't reckoned on the volatile nature of the man he'd left in charge. The scolding he had had over his previous action had not really subdued the man. In his mind, the only answer to possible trouble was quick and effective action.

Of pure Italian stock, for his parents were Sicilian, he was an extremely unstable character. He had been brought up in a family with the strongest Mafia connections, and the violence of feuds and vendettas had been in the background all his life. He'd grown up with stories of his extended family, those who'd died, and those who'd killed.

He'd known Shroeder for years, and had taken on this job with him because there was good money to be made. But establishing the routine necessary for its success had become rather boring, and he missed the adrenaline rush that action gave him. Now it looked as if he had the chance to remedy that. These two men were asking too many questions, and it looked as if they were on the way to finding and stopping their very lucrative scheme. To his mind, the only answer was to get rid of them fast !

He began to call the men together, being careful to contact only those that Shroeder had brought in, and that meant 8 of the 12, soon making their way into the main yard of Boardman's.

When he had their attention, he addressed them fiercely. "These two have been asking awkward questions," he began, "and unless we discourage them, they'll go on to spoil everything."

Some of the men were not too sure what 'discourage' meant, or how far Angelo intended to go. But all of them could understand that if these enquiries got too close, it would mean the end of their well-paid easy jobs, and none of them wanted that.

"We need to act soon," went on Angelo. "I wish I knew where to find them right now."

"I think I can do something about that," volunteered one of the men. "Just before I came out, I had a phone call from my brother. He's a driver too. Works for Paxton's. He thought he'd better warn me about some men asking questions. He wasn't really taking much notice till he heard one mention Boardman's, and he knew that was where I worked."

"Where did he see them ?," demanded Angelo eagerly.

"He said he'd just stopped of for a cup of tea at Rosie's," replied the man. "You know, that café halfway between here and Dover. Lots of lorry-drivers stop off there."

"I wonder if they are still there ?," queried Angelo.

"They might be," replied the man. "Jim said they hadn't been there long."

"Let's go and find out," ordered Angelo briskly, and sent the man off to pile into a couple of their cars.

Before he went for his own, he collared one of the men. "Jake," he said urgently, "That clapped-out van at the end of the yard. Can you get it going ?" The man nodded.

"Then do it as fast as you can," he ordered, "and follow us down."

Angelo had had an idea, but he didn't stop to explain it to Jake, who was quite content just to follow orders.

With some fast cars, it didn't take them long to get down to Rosie's, just off the main road to Dover. They pulled into the car-park, which was almost full of parked lorries, and climbed out.

One of the men grabbed Angelo's arm, and pointed. "Look," he said, "That big silver car over there. I saw them getting into it, when they left the Swan the other day."

"Good," exclaimed Angelo, "It looks as if they are still here,"

"Do we go in ?," asked one of the others.

"No way," said Angelo instantly. "Too many drivers in there that know us by sight. We don't want them to see us. No, we wait till they come out."

The silver car, looking incongruous among all the large lorries was in a secluded corner of the big car-park. Angelo and his men parked where they could keep an eye on it, and also on the door of the café, and settled down to wait.

Eventually their patience was rewarded and they saw the two men they were waiting for emerge, and begin to walk towards the vehicle. There was just time for Angelo and his gang to slip behind the parked lorries, to lie in wait close to the car.

The ambush turned out to be most successful. Not expecting trouble, nevertheless Bodie and Doyle re-acted quickly, but the odds were not good, especially as several of the attackers were wielding heavy bats. The melee was fast and furious, albeit a little one-sided, with the defending pair getting in some telling blows on their opponents, but the outcome was not in doubt, and ended eventually with several forms lying on the hard ground, and two of those were the vanquished C.I.5 men. Angelo stooped down to check on them. Satisfied that they were 'out for the count', he turned to help the fallen two of his own group to their feet.

"What do we do now ?," demanded one of them

"Leave it to me," said Angelo briskly. "I'll dump them somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and we'll hope they've 'got the message'."

This re-assured the listening men, who had suddenly realised what they had done, and were wondering what Angelo planned to do next. They had seen a side to Angelo that he'd never shown before. He had attacked the two men with such ferocity, and it had scared some of his followers.

"You lot get back to London," he ordered, "and get back into your normal routine. Jake and I will deal with things here, and join you later."

The men were glad to obey. They had been so fired up by Angelo's fierce persuasiveness that they had felt they had had to do this to save their jobs, but now they feared the consequences of their actions. None of them knew of the man's previous attack on Bodie, or they might have worried even more. They piled into their cars, and took off, leaving only Angelo, to greet Jake, who had just turned up with the dilapidated old van.

"Quick," he said, "We've a lot to do before they wake up. Their jackets will have I.D.s and stuff, so let's have those off them."

Taking off the garments revealed guns and holsters. Angelo demanded those as well. Then he helped Jake lift the two unconscious men into the back of the rickety old van, and shut the door on them.

He gathered up the stuff they had taken, fished in Bodie's pocket for the car keys, and thrust it all into Jake's arms. "Stick that lot back in the car," he ordered, "Then lock it and throw away the key."

"I don't understand," began Jake. "Why ….. ?"

"We don't want them identified too quickly," explained Angelo. "I'm going for my car now. Be ready to follow me," he ordered.

"You'll have to drive slowly," said Jake. "That old rust-bucket is falling to pieces."

"We're not going that far," said Angelo, and shot off.

If there had been anyone to notice, they would have been surprised to see them leave, - a smart little sport's car trailed by a rusty old van. It wasn't a long journey, and mostly down quiet country roads, finishing in a deserted little cove that Angelo had discovered some while ago.

His next order surprised Jake, who up till then had no idea of the Italian's dangerous intentions. He got him to back the van down the beach, reversing towards the sea. "Back it in as far as it will go," he ordered.

Jake did so, and got quite a way before the engine died. He scrambled out, and waded back towards the beach. He knew now what Angelo's plan was. It didn't really bother him. The tide was coming in fast, and the old van would soon be under water. This would look like an accident, and was unlikely to be traced back to them. So he happily climbed into Angelo's smart little car, and the pair sped off, back to London.

Doyle stirred first, waking to darkness and wetness. He seemed to be lying in water. He sat up and felt about him. His left hand encountered a metal wall, and a bit more feeling about gave him some idea of where he was. His first thought was for his partner. Was he with him ?

"Bodie," he called anxiously, and was relieved to get an instant answer.

"Two questions," queried the familiar voce, "Where the heck are we ? And why am I getting wet ?"

Doyle almost laughed at his mate's aggrieved tone, as he answered. "I think we're in some sort of van," he said, "and we're wet because it feels as if we're in the sea." To prove him right, the van shuddered as a heavy wave hit it, settled more deeply, and the water-level rose again.

Doyle felt for a door handle, and couldn't find one. Perhaps the old vehicle had lost it, or maybe it never had one.

"Looks like we need a bit of brute force," he said. Bodie joined him, and together they began their assault on the door. Decrepit as the van was, it resisted their initial efforts, as they banged furiously at it.

"I think it's giving a bit," declared Bodie. "One more shoulder charge together should do it. Ready ? One ,two, three !"

The onslaught would probably have been enough on its own, but just at that moment, the handle was turned from the outside ! So Bodie and Doyle tumbled together out into the sea, overturning the canoeist who had just come to investigate. As they scrambled to their feet, in waist-deep water, the experienced man executed a neat Eskimo Roll, and regained his upright position. For a moment he just stared at the pair before him.

"I heard the banging," he said, "So I came to discover what was happening."

"Thank you," replied Doyle automatically. Then, realising it would be a bit awkward to try to explain to the man how they came to be there, he added rather lamely, "We got stuck." Their rescuer, who had been out on an early-morning practice run, gave them a strange look.

"Can you tell us where the nearest civilisation is ?," asked Bodie. "A village, a phone box, a police station, anything ?"

"The nearest place is along that way," answered the man, pointing back the way he had come, "But it's only a small place."

"Thanks, mate," said Bodie, "We'll find it." He began to wade towards the shore. Doyle thanked the man again, and followed him.

The canoeist shook his head in some bewilderment. What an odd pair ! Then, giving up on them, he plied his paddle, and shot off again to continue his trip along the coastline.

Doyle caught up with his mate halfway up the beach, and together they found a path leading in the right direction.

"We'd better jog, to warm up a bit," suggested Doyle, and set a steady pace.

Bodie glanced at his watch, and let out an exclamation. "Do you know what time it is ?," he demanded. "Only 4.30 am. It's the crack of dawn !"

Doyle grinned at his friend's disgusted tone. It was a time of day Bodie rarely saw, unless he was turning out from some exclusive night-club.

"That canoeist was out early," commented Bodie, "Lucky for us, though."

"He was probably training for some event," suggested Doyle, "and getting in some early practice before going to work."

He was right about that, as it happened.

It took them half-an-hour's steady jogging before they saw any signs of life, and then, as their rescuer had said, it was only a small place, not much more than a village. But one of the first houses they came to was a squat, square building with a lamp outside, and the word POLICE above the door. They knocked loudly on the blue-painted door, and waited. After they had knocked again, they began to hear the slight sounds of movement inside. Then came the rasp of bolts being withdrawn, and the door opened.

A sturdy figure stood there, clad in dressing-gown and striped pyjamas. As he eyed them suspiciously, they suddenly remembered that it was still very early in the morning.

"I'm sorry to get you up," Doyle apologised rather belatedly. "We need some help. We've been 'mugged'."

The man looked at them dubiously for a moment, then remembering his position and his duty to serve the public, stepped back a little and waved them in.

The police-house was only an ordinary little dwelling. An attempt had been made to make it look more official, by placing a small desk at right angles across the hall, to give the effect of a counter. It held a couple of wire trays with forms and leaflets, and a stand with pens and pencils. P.C. Potter waved his guests past this.

"Go through to the kitchen. I'll put the kettle on," he said, closing the door behind them. He followed them through into the pleasant kitchen, and set about making a pot of tea.

P.c. Potter was the archetypal 'village policeman'. He'd lived in the little village most of his life, neither seeking nor being offered, transfer or promotion. He knew every resident for miles around, having watched most of them grow up. He knew the countryside round his little patch like the back of his hand, and every farmer working the land. He was well able to deal with all the little problems that arose, having a wealth of common sense. If anything more serious occurred, he only had to request help from the police-station in the nearest town, but this rarely happened.

But he was feeling uneasy now, and not very sure what he should do, being confronted by strangers. To give himself confidence, he shed his dressing-gown, grabbed his uniform jacket from its hook on the kitchen door, and buttoned it neatly over his pyjamas. He sat down at the scrubbed table where his guests were sitting with their welcome cups of tea, and introduced himself.

"I'm Police Constable Potter, he said, as boldly as he dared, "Now, how can I help you ?."

"It's a bit difficult to explain," began Doyle. "Actually, we're police officers too, but we've lost our I.D.s, because we were mugged."

Bodie took over impatiently. "But all we need," he said briskly, "is to make a phone-call to London."

This demand shocked P.C. Potter. "A call to London ?," he exclaimed. "I can't authorize that ! I'll have to ask the sergeant.."

Bodie was about to protest, but Doyle put a restraining hand on his arm "I can understand that," he said placatingly, "So will you do that, please."

Potter looked somewhat confused, which indeed he was. This was way outside of his experience. "I'll need to do it in private," he said, playing for time. "So if you'll be so good as to wait in the front room."

He ushered them out of the kitchen, opened another door in the hallway and showed them in. It was a simple drawing-room, in an old-fashioned style, they saw as they entered. But as the door closed behind them, there was a sudden click. Bodie swung round, as Doyle moved forward.

"He's locked us in !," he declared incredulously.

There was a chuckle from Doyle, who'd just caught sight of his reflection in the large mirror over the fireplace.

"I'm not surprised," he said. "Have you seen what we look like ?,"

Bodie joined him, and together they contemplated their reflections. Their clothes, which had all but dried on them during their run, were bedraggled, crumpled and stained with sea-water, and both their faces bore the signs of last night's fight.

"We look like a couple of vagrants," declared Doyle, with a grin. "I wouldn't have believed us either."

Bodie was wandering round the little room "We could easily break out," he said.

"Don't be daft," replied his mate. "Let him call for help. We might get on better with someone senior."

Bodie saw the sense of that, but he posed another question. "Why did you say we were mugged ?," he asked. "We were attacked and left for dead, and we know who did it."

"Would you like to explain that to the constable ?," riposted Doyle, and grinned as his friend shook his head.

"But as least it's given us a lead," he went on. "When we get back we can pull in those lorry drivers, and get the truth out of them."

Bodie's face brightened. "Yes," he agreed, "I recognised the pair from Newhaven."

"And Angelo seemed to be the leader," added Doyle. Another thought occurred to him. "I don't think Sam Ellis was one of them, though."

They wandered idly round the little room as they waited.

Relieved that his visitors weren't making a fuss, Potter took the opportunity to nip up to his bedroom, to shower and shave and get properly dressed. So he was ready and waiting when a police-car rolled to a halt outside his door, and two sturdy constables from the police station in the nearby town climbed out. They were in rather belligerent mood, as Potter had suggested that the two they were to pick up, were either vagrants after what they could cadge, or maybe London lads, lost after a drunken spree.

So they were considerably surprised, on unlocking the door, to find that the occupants made no fuss, and walked quietly out to the car, without any objection. Indeed, the curly-haired one even thanked Potter politely for the tea. They made no attempt at conversation during the ride back to the base, and entered the police station quite calmly.

However once there, they demanded to speak to a senior officer, and wouldn't give their names. The sergeant in charge took exception to this, and was arguing quite fiercely.

"I want to know more about you," he insisted, "Before I bother the inspector. He's very busy. Perhaps a spell in the cells will make you see some sense."

The two burly constables moved forward ready to enforce this threat, when there was an interruption. The outer door opened, and a man in uniform entered. He evidently knew his way about, for he moved to go straight through to the back office, before he noticed the two rather dishevelled men the sergeant was haranguing.. He took a second look, and turned back.

"Good heavens !," he exclaimed, "It's Doyle, isn't it ?."

Doyle swung round to gaze at the speaker. "Inspector Rigby," he said, stepping forward with a smile and an extended hand.

"Superintendent, now," responded the man. "I've gone up in the world, as you have too, I understand."

The sergeant was looking very taken aback. "You know this man, sir ?," he asked incredulously.

"Used to," replied the Superintendent, "When he was a 'copper' But you've moved on now, haven't you, Doyle ?" Doyle nodded.

"What do they want from you ?," asked Rigby.

"They're asking to make a phone call to London," replied the puzzled officer.

"Then let them," replied the senior man Then he changed his mind. "On second thoughts, let me do it. I've met their boss, and I'd like to talk to him again."

He suddenly took charge. "Is Inspector Williams in ?," he asked. The sergeant nodded. His inspector was in his office, but he'd been reluctant to disturb him, as he was up to his eyes in paperwork, mainly that being asked for by the visiting Super.

"Right," said Rigby, and immediately shepherded Bodie and Doyle towards the back office. "We'll see him, and soon sort this out."

Inspector Williams who was thankfully just getting to the last of the pile of reports, was visibly startled when the man he'd been expecting, sailed into his office, accompanied by what looked like a pair of tramps or vagrants. He began to get up, but was waved back to his seat, as Rigby gestured to the other two to pull up some of the chairs that lined the far wall. Soon all were seated.

"Now, Doyle," said Rigby briskly, "Perhaps you'll explain to us just what has been going on."

Relieved to be with senior men, Doyle quickly complied, and explained what had happened to them. Both men listened carefully, and, of course, accepted what he had to tell, which as they had known, the mere sergeant would not have done.

"Well," said Rigby, when he'd got to the end of the saga, "Now it's time to let your boss know we've found you."

Phoning Cowley should really have been up to Bodie or Doyle, but Rigby seemed so keen to do it, and knowing what a forceful man he'd always been, Doyle decided it wouldn't hurt to let him at least make the first contact. He could easily have acquired the necessary numbers because of his senior status, but Doyle supplied them anyway. So the call was instigated and put through.

"Mr. Cowley," the Superintendent began, "My name is Rigby. I don't suppose you remember me, but we did meet once, at a training session some years ago."

"Yes, ," answered Cowley brusquely, "What is it about.?,"

"I've some good news for you," replied Rigby, in his enthusiastic manner "We've found something you nearly lost. Two good lads, Bodie and Doyle."

Cowley was instantly alert. He'd been wondering why he hadn't heard from his best team for some time. "Are they all right ?," he demanded.

"Oh, yes," replied Rigby, "A bit battered and bruised, but well enough." He explained where he was phoning from.

"How did they get there ?," demanded Cowley, rather astonished at the location, a place he'd hardly heard of.

"A long story," said Rigby, "which no doubt they'll tell you when they get back to London."

He beamed at the two waiting agents and went on. "That's really why I rang, because I may be able to help you there. I've got a car coming up to London in an hour, ferrying some of the reports I've been collecting to be collated at Head Office. I could offer them a lift in that."

This was such a convenient offer that Cowley had no hesitation in accepting it. He would have liked a word with his men, but he was already late for an appointment with the Minister. He decided that could wait till they got back, especially if it was a long story. So he quickly thanked Rigby and rang off.

The Superintendent turned to the others with a beaming face. "Good," he said, "That's all fixed. Now Williams, the least we can do is offer our guests a little hospitality. Somewhere to wash and freshen up, I think, and then something to eat." They made no effort to explain to the sergeant and his men, who watched in some astonishment as the two visitors were treated as honoured guests.

So an hour later saw the pair sitting comfortably in the back of a large car, on their way back to London. Earlier they had watched the boot being filled with boxes of reports and records, and a large pile of these had also been loaded in beside the driver, to make room for them in the back.

As they left the rural side roads, and got back onto the main road, Bodie had a sudden thought. "We'll be passing Rosie's café soon. Couldn't we stop off and pick up our car ?"

"No way," said Doyle, quickly quashing that idea. "For one thing, we don't know if it's still there. They could have dumped it somewhere. And for another, even if it is still where we left it, we haven't got the keys."

"You're right," said Bodie, and leaned back comfortably. "So let's just enjoy the ride, shall we ?."

They were almost back to the outskirts of London, when suddenly Doyle let out a burst of laughter, waking his partner from a slight doze.

"What's so funny ?," demanded Bodie.

"Well," explained Doyle, still smiling to himself, "I've only just realised why that canoeist kept giving us funny looks. He thought we were a couple, who had been 'having it off' in the back of the van, and had lost track of time, and left it too late to move the van !"

Bodie saw the funny side of that too, and a matching grin spread over his face. "And the policemen, too," he added. "Most of them thought we were drunks or vagrants. We were extremely lucky that that Superintendent turned up when he did. It might have taken us ages to convince them who we were.."

"And we got a ride home into the bargain,"

The helpful driver dropped them off right outside Headquarters. Only the doorman saw them as they entered and hurried up to Cowley's office, He was hanging up his coat and hat, having just got back from a prolonged session with the Minister. He turned, and eyed them up and down, but made no comment on their still rather dishevelled appearance. He waved them to a seat, went to his cabinet, and poured a drink for them all. He settled in the seat behind his desk.

"Now, let's hear this long story," he requested. Between them Bodie and Doyle told him all that had happened. He listened carefully, without interrupting.

"Well," he said at last, "Now we have proper cause for some action." He gave the pair before him a long calculating look, as his ever-active mind raced over the plans he was forming. Then he issued his orders.

"You two scruffs had better go home and tidy yourselves up," he began.

"Problem," interrupted Bodie morosely, "No keys."

"I'll give you the spares and arrange a 'lift'," went on Cowley. "Here's what I want you to do," he added firmly. "Go back to your flats. See that nobody notices you. Stay there and keep out of sight. We don't want Angelo to accidentally find out that his plan has failed. In the morning I'll have a team pick up Boardman and all his drivers," Bodie's face brightened as he looked forward to some action at last

"You pair can come to the Interrogation Centre when we've got them all under lock and key. You can pick out the ones that attacked you, and confront Angelo too."

Bodie and Doyle did exactly as instructed, went back to their respective flats and made themselves comfortable again. Doyle had just emerged from the shower, when he had a phone call. He answered cautiously.

"It's all right. It's only me," came Murphy's voice. "Just to let you know Benson and Miller went to look for your car. It was still there, and undamaged. And you'll be very glad to hear that all your stuff, I.D.s, guns etc. were all left inside. Good news ?. They'll drop it all off to you on their way back." Very relieved, Doyle thanked him, and he rang off.

Angelo's plans might have failed, but Cowley's rarely did. It all went smoothly. Bodie and Doyle, now respectably turned out, strolled nonchalantly into the small interview room where Angelo was being questioned, and although they didn't show it, were totally delighted by the response. Angelo's face was a study in stunned disbelief.

Things moved quickly after that. Bodie and Doyle quickly identified the ones who were part of the gang who had attacked them. The others, including Sam Ellis, were in less trouble, though they were still guilty of aiding in a conspiracy.

Boardman was the most help. He went to pieces completely and very quickly babbled out all he knew.

It was then that C.I. 5 found out about the controlling mind, Shroeder. But this was their only disappointment, for they had not caught him.

As soon as he had got back from his trip north, Shroeder had heard from Angelo all about what had happened in his absence. He was appalled. The stupid man had ruined everything !

But he wasted no time in calling him to task for it. This scheme was finished now. It was time to move on. So he quickly collected together all the money he has stashed away, and his store of false passports. Using one of them, he was away in short time, and boarding a Channel ferry. He was going to disappear again, as he had done so often before. He had no qualms about letting others take all the blame.

But at least the clever scheme had been revealed and terminated, so C.I.5 had managed to solve the Home office's problem for them.


End file.
